


Black Velvet (and other stories)

by Tat_Tat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Tension, Begging, Breastfeeding, Clit Pinching, Drabble Collection, Drinking Pee out of a champagne glass, F/F, Face Slapping, Foot Massage, Masochism, Maybe - Freeform, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Professional Submissive, Rope Bondage, Rope Drunk, Sadism, Sex Work, Shibari, Subspace, Watersports, Workplace Relationship, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-04-23 12:57:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14332935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tat_Tat/pseuds/Tat_Tat
Summary: "Teach me how to be still."





	1. Black Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> Experimenting with style. Tentatively calling this a collection I guess for my racier OW fic drabbles. Only time and impulse will tell.

“Tell me how this feels...” 

Moira’s voice is smooth, like dark silk covering her. The ropes wrapped around Angela are mildly abrasive, but she likes the rough sensation, how it compares to Moira’s softer touch.

Moira has her on the cool operating table under hot lights, facing upwards. She’s tied with her arms behind her back and legs tied ankle to thigh in what Moira calls a “frog tie.” Angela doesn’t care what it’s called, only that it forces her legs open as she lays on the operating table, blissfully vulnerable.

“How does it feel?” Moira asks again and Angela realizes she hasn’t answered her yet.

“...'S good...” her voice sounds distant, slightly slurred. She thinks she doesn’t mind, that she can lay like this forever, comfortable and hugged tight by Moira’s ropes, with the gentle graze of nails across her neck and inner thigh...

She can fall asleep like this if she’s not careful. Languidly, Angela recalls how Moira coaxed her into her ropes, how she promised it would help take the edge off. And oh it does. Her mind is set adrift, far from the woes of her personal life, from the battlefield and from looming deadlines. At this moment she just is, and there is no pressure for her to move from this moment. 

Moira strokes her cheek and leans in to kiss her deeply. She encourages this lull. Angela is delighted to be trapped, to use this as an excuse to be still. 

She remains still after Moira’s released her. She settles into her arms, into her lap, unaware of how much time has passed.

“Two hours,” Moira tells her later, and when Angela springs up to jump back into her lab coat, horrified, Moira holds her back. 

She holds her still.

//

There are ropes scattered on the floor, ropemarks around Moira’s wrists and thighs, and the strategic use of rope as a blindfold. The rope is dyed ruby red and still smells of hemp. Underneath the haze of it is Angela’s perfume.

“Right beside you.” Angela comes to her and draws her in, covers her in kisses and praise.

She rakes her nails through copper hair and tells Moira that she’s ‘brilliant’ and ‘handsome’. She goes into detail: about a recent discovery she’s made, a paper written, and her strong, elegant jawline. 

Moira is sure she’ll run out of steam but Angela never fails to find something admirable about her

“You flatter me,” Moira says to hide her fluster. Angela smirks-- something she can’t see, but feels as lips press against her cheek.


	2. the cat [that got the cream]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains pregnancy fetish, breastfeeding, and foot massage.

Moira knows before anyone else, perhaps before Angela herself.

It is obvious to her, the nausea, the frequent bathroom breaks, and how Angela starts to pick up the medium sized lab coats instead of the small ( with the sudden choice to button it all the way). 

Gabe argues that Moira had already known because they frequently worked together. That had a part to play, but it was not only that. Moira is perceptive and quiet, she watches people without their knowing, picks up on their habits and irregularities. 

She only watches those she finds especially intriguing. Since Angela became pregnant, Moira’s focus on her has only magnified. 

She’s afraid that she isn’t subtle, opening the door for her, offering to pick something up from the mess hall on her way out. But if she’s terribly unsubtle, then Angela is oblivious, rolling her eyes as she says, “I’m pregnant. I’m not helpless” before returning to her microscope.

X

It’s been five weeks since Angela has been sent out on the field. She openly complains about this, even though she knows the reason is sound. She can’t help but think about the lives she could be saving on the field, even though the one inside of her takes priority. She vents also about cutting coffee cold turkey; she doesn’t stay cooped up in the lab late at night, tired at nine and without caffeine to keep her functional.

Lena says she doesn't like how grouchy Angela has become, but she's happy for her. Moira laughs at this; Angela has always been this way, it's only because of the lack of caffeine and her hormones that her tact has taken a leave of absence. The Angela they complain about is the one she knows best:her true self.

Moira likes to see that Angela is capable of telling others ‘no' when they ask for favors, she only wishes that it didn't take this long or required this circumstance.

She hopes Angela will remember how to say no in seven months time, after the baby is born but she has a feeling it won't become a habit.

X

Angela says that she's fat but she barely shows at sixteen weeks. She's started to come into work wearing sweat pants because that's all that fits her, normally she wears pencil skirts or tailored slacks not unlike Moira’s.

She wonders aloud if she'll have to remake her valkyrie suit after this. Moira tells her she's getting ahead of herself.

A month later she does start to show and her bathroom breaks are so frequent that Moira and her switch desks so that she's closer to the restroom. Her clothes used to be varied, now she comes in wearing one of the same two outfits until she becomes too big for them and has to buy new clothes again. Her feet are swollen she complains but at least she can see her feet.

There's a baby shower planned for next month. She invites Moira who declines the following day bearing a gift. She explains she doesn't like most people, especially crowds of them. Angela asks if she is ‘most people’ to her.

Moira hesitates , but shyly admits that she is an exception, that time with her isn't exhausting. She doesn't include that time with Angela is ‘me' time but she feels in some way she has already said that.

X

Moira let's her sleep on the leather couch she personally brought in since her first day at Overwatch. 

The next day she's prepared: there are blankets and pillows there that were not before.

X

Angela doesn't retort that she isn't helpless when Moira offers to help her these days. The further along she is in her pregnancy the more willing she is to not only accept help, but also ask for it.

She thanks Moira for the slushie and says she feels guilty for asking her to fetch it and her other random food cravings from the mess hall. 

Moira dryly replies that she can pay her back by giving her the child in exchange.

Angela catches on, smiling at Moira’s glib remark. “Only a witch would ask for that.”

“You caught me.”

X

Angela catches her again. Catches her eyes tracing over the prominent baby bump. She’s only seven months along but she looks like she’s full term. People have joked that she’s having twins.

Moira returns to her computer screen, only half checking her emails. She wills herself to skim over them at least. 

She’s not used to being distracted.

She’s used to being focused- except her focus has shifted to someone instead of her work. She sneaks another glance and thinks about how it would feel to touch Angela’s glowing skin, to plant kisses on her stomach. . . 

And there Angela catches her again, deep in thought, chin resting on the heel of her hand.

“Do you have any children, Dr. O’Deorain?” 

Most women her age would have children she supposes. The question in most cases would be invasive but she was the one caught staring ; Angela’s question is a reaction to that.

“No.” Moira hears herself distantly.

“Have you ever wanted any?”

Moira is unfaltering, truthful when she says she doesn’t, never has. Her mother said the maternal instinct would kick in eventually but she’s thirty eight and her feelings are unchanged. She’s never wanted children, but she admires the women who do. 

She wants to tell Angela she’s beautiful, that what she’s doing is beautiful.

She does tell her the latter, but veils it behind scientific jargon and nuance. Irritatingly, Angela seems to see through it, her cheeks turning pink. Moira’s own face replies, colouring a bright shade too.

Angela asks for something and Moira gets up to fetch it. They’re both relieved to have an excuse.

X

In a lull, in the middle of the night, when it’s just them per usual, Angela complains that her feet are sore. She hasn’t stirred from her seat in hours. They swell she says. Moira rises from her seat and asks what she can do to help. The mess hall is closed at this hour but there is a snack kiosk.

“I’m not hungry.” Angela says. Surprising and yet she licks her lips. “Rub them for me?”

Moira’s blindsided by the request, thinks she’s misheard. “Excuse me?”

“You offered to help.” She pivots in her chair, both of her feet are in fuzzy slippers, not far off, under her desk are the shoes she originally wore into work, low heeled but still uncomfortable. 

Moira shucks her lab coat off, rolls the sleeves of her dress shirt and goes down on one knee. She takes off the fuzzy slipper with care and places Angela’s right foot on her other knee.

She does this, looking her in the eye.

Angela’s gaze is unflinching also.

Moira grows bolder after that, she openly admires Angela’s baby bump, even runs her hands over it when Angela gives the invitation.

Something almost happens the moment Moira leans to plant a kiss on her stomach. Unsaid but known. Angela’s eyes flicker like a flame and she touches the back of Moira’s head.

Then Lena calls for Angela, leaving the moment to hang in stasis.

It hangs a little longer ; Angela goes into labor the day after that and Moira doesn’t see her at all while she’s on maternity leave.

X

When Angela returns it’s sudden and Moira jumps, spilling her coffee. 

“Boo.” Angela smiles. 

Moira notices she looks more tired that usual, but her eyes are bright, her optimism reignited. 

“What a pleasant surprise.” Moira says and she hopes that doesn’t sound sarcastic.

“And to see you, Dr. O’Deorain is a pleasant expectation.”

Moira laughs involuntarily. She thinks her ears are playing tricks on her, but she’s knows that she doesn’t have issues with auditory processing.

“Oh you’re serious.” Moira finally says, accepting that Angela may have said that. It sounds a little severe, completely unintentional. “Not many would say so, Dr. Ziegler.” She quickly explains.

“What did I miss?”

Moira is relieved to talk about work instead of small talk and possibly burgeoning feelings, but later in the early evening it’s revisited. Angela says goodnight and before she leaves, a kiss dusts Moira’s temple.

Before Moira can react, Angela is halfway down the hall.

X

Angela forgets her breastpump and Moira wonders how intentional that is. She wonders -holding a breath- if her suggestion to help will pull Angela further from her orbit. They sit in silence for a dragged second, eye to eye and Moira swallows, sure that the idea was too weird and that she had misread Angela’s signals.

She’s almost certain that’s the case when Angela gets up but it’s only to ensure the door is locked. She fixes the window blinds. She says something about how she misses the attention she used to get, how since she became pregnant, became a mother no one sees her as a sexual being. 

Moira’s nonplussed by the venting, she tries not to let Angela’s promiscuity disturb her, tries not to think about the father of the baby. She had heard rumors about Angela, nicknamed the “bicycle of Overwatch” but she had chosen to ignore them. 

Rumors are impossible to ignore when they’re true, when they’re unfolding in front of you. . . 

Angela sees the look on Moira’s face. “Life is too short. We both know that.”

It makes sense, Angela has seen the worst of the war, has had to face her own mortality. It’s jarring that the aptly named guardian angel is hedonistic, but that’s what society has taught them: that compassionate women don’t sleep around. Moira feels guilty, for almost falling into that trap, into the sheep talk.

She’s still a little bothered, apprehensive, thinking about the men that came before her, that have touched Angela.

She cares about this until Angela undoes her blouse and the catch of her nursing bra. Her full breasts spill out.

Angela is right- life is too short.

Her breasts, sumptuous and leaking milk feel perfect in Moira’s hands. She rolls her thumb over a swollen nipple and delights in how Angela jolts. She pinches as gently as one can, knowing that in this state Angela’s nipples, her entire body is sensitive. She recalls Angela’s venting from earlier and has a theory that she hasn’t had sex since she became pregnant, that what Moira is contending with are nine months of pent up frustration.

Clear droplets, like dew fall on Moira’s tongue before she even teases it from Angela’s breast. The smell is soft, faintly like soap. She tastes and smells sweet, it makes her think of almonds and grassy fields. Suckling at her breasts is visceral, calming, she almost forgets that this was meant to be sexual. Angela reminds her, sneaks a hand down the front of her pants, making her gasp and roll her hips into the touch. 

She tries to reach up Angela’s skirt but her sweet voice stops her, says she’s still tender down there, even though it’s been three months since she gave birth.

“I want to at least see you.” Moira murmurs against her breast, dots a kiss, bites and leaves a mark.

“Do you?” Angela replies coquettishly, but makes no move to comply with the request. “I need something to hold you hostage to me.”

“I’m already your captive.” 

Angela’s eyes flicker, like flame fighting against a breeze, for a moment Moira sees her insecurity, the suggestion that past lovers left after they got what they came for. Angela is eager to please. Moira knows how easy that is to exploit and she knows how hard it is to undo self defense mechanisms that past experience teaches. She gives Angela her word and she allows Angela to hold the sight of her sex ransom. 

Angela gasps as Moira sucks harder. She strokes red hair, she strokes her clit. 

Moira shudders and moves her mouth from one nipple to the other and massages the breast to facilitate the flow of milk. She hears a moan above her. She looks up and Angela is just as surprised as she is.

“Keep. . . “ Angela swallows, perspiration clinging to her flushed throat. “. . .keep going.”

So Moira does, groaning too while Angela runs pretty circles around her clit and runs her fingers up and down the shaft. Angela’s breath falls hot, humid against her cheek and the sounds she makes heighten in pitch. It’s obvious she doesn’t worry about getting caught too much, she’s the darling of Overwatch, if anyone is to get in trouble it’s Moira. But when has Moira ever followed the rules, cared for them? Her voice grows stronger, bolder the closer she reaches orgasm. Angela senses this, dusts her fingers, says quietly but firmly, “come for me, Moira.”

The command is like a switch and Moira comes effortless, shuddering, moaning, and unraveling and falling deeper into Angela’s bosom. A small shiver passes through Angela too and she grips her close and moves back and forth in her seat, riding out her own orgasm. Strangely, she’s quieter now than she was earlier. 

They lie sweltering in each others arms until a knock comes at the door and the person on the other side tries the knob.

Moira jumps out of Angela’s arms and slinks to a corner of the lab, covering herself in her lab coat. Angela stretches, unperturbed, clearly experienced with fucking while on the job. She smooths out her skirt and mutters, “I’m coming, I’m coming. . . “ all while re-adjusting her bra and buttoning her shirt.

It’s nothing, no one too important, just someone running an errand for Commander Morrison and they leave quickly. 

Angela returns to her seat, spins in her chair with a flourish and catching Moira’s gaze smirks.

“Your fly is open.”


	3. under wraps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on @eekafterlaughs fanart. This fic and the art it’s based on are both slightly nsfw.   
> http://eekafterlaughs.tumblr.com/post/175172862636/just-testing-out-some-brushes

The effects of Moira’s experiment were glaringly obvious. She wondered if wrapping it up in bandages only drew more attention. When her co-workers pointed it out she was only self conscious because if they noticed then Angela would notice and unlike their coworkers, she would be assertive, insisting that she examine Moira’s arm.

And she did, it had become a daily occurrence. Just when they had become cozy with each other they were shooting barbs at each other again, the circumstances different. Angela’s quips came from a place of caring, Moira’s out of self defense, afraid of what Angela would think of her, afraid to worry her more.

She’d never cared what anyone thought, not until Angela. She still did as she pleased regardless and she still felt no guilt, but lately she would hear Angela’s voice at the back of her mind whenever she performed an experiment, telling her she _should_ feel guilty.

Angela’s pushiness would turn the conversation into an argument and then those arguments would mount into sexual tension. Moira suspected that while Angela undressed her she was looking for the opportunity to pull loose the bandages. She never did, but her hand would linger on Moira’s arm.

“Show me.” She pressed again, after she had fucked Moira ragged on the operating table.

“Fine.” Moira groaned. Maybe she was tired of this dance, or maybe three consecutive orgasms was what it took to make her crack.

She unraveled the bandages, blinding white under the fluorescent lighting and Angela, already close stepped closer.

At first glance, Moira’s right hand looked heavily bruised, but the pronounced veins gave away that it was much more than that and her nails, as long as her fingers were hard like steel, near impossible to cut.

“What did you do?” Angela whispered. Moira stiffened, watching her cup her hand tenderly, wary that Angela would fall faint in her grasp. But she didn’t, Angela was careful or Moira kept it in control. After the initial fear wore, she relaxed and willed Angela to hold her hand a little longer, feeling warmth there for the first time in weeks.

Kisses and tears fell on the back of her hand. Angela was shaking, gripping her with a violence that could have been anger, could have been fear, or both. Moira was unsure, Angela’s kisses, her affection was incessant as if her tears and her tenderness would heal Moira, as if they were in a fairy tale.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m furious.”

“I thought your reaction would be different.”

“You’ll hear about it plenty later. Right now I can’t bear it. Moira, why…why… ! What did you do?!”

Moira said nothing, knowing that no answer would satisfy, convince her. A part of her was pleased that Angela cared enough not to let it go. Anyone else would have easily walked away.


	4. On Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where Moira is a Professional Submissive and sex worker to help fund her research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains sex work, Sadomasochism, Clamps, Clit Pinching, Orgasm Denial, Face Slapping, and Subspace.

When Overwatch disbanded, Angela’s friends told her it was the perfect opportunity to take a break and maybe find someone special. Reinhardt and Torbjörn had taken her out to the pub, even lesbian bars to help. Help that she had never asked for but was hesitant to decline. She humored them in the beginning but as the weeks progressed, with nothing to do she itched to resume her workaholic ways and applied to work for Doctors Without Borders. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she would be accepted, she knew her credentials and her reputation.

She would be busy, when the time came, until then she filled it by taking the advice of her friends but without their help. She didn’t even consider using a dating app or website ; she worried about stringing people along but more than that she found the game of flirting exhausting and pointless, a distraction. Her first option was always an escort service that she was familiar with. 

Their protocols had changed since she last used their website, for the better she thought since now their services were legal, granting the workers protections they hadn’t had before. Back then the conversations were guarded, it was verboten to bring up sex. 

There were ways to ask for what she wanted. Her usual order was someone tall and lithe, who would open doors for her and go down on their knees to take her shoes off.

“We haven’t heard from you in awhile.” The manager of the website had ended up calling her, they were friends, Angela supposed.

“I’ve been busy.” Angela said, clutching the receiver. 

“I see your tastes haven’t changed.”

Angela lowered her gaze, playing with the beaded tassel of her shirt, “do you have anyone available for tonight?”

“For your type? No, but she’ll be available next weekend. If you can wait that long I think you’ll find she’s worth the wait. I can send you pictures.”

“No, that’s fine. I trust your judgement.” 

The price the manager gave her was two paychecks worth, and Overwatch had never been stingy when it came to paying their employees.

X

Angela prepared for the guest like she would if it were a conventional date: she cleaned her apartment, cooked dinner, and had a bottle of chilled Pinot Noir delivered to her door just an hour short of her guest’s arrival. She put on music as an afterthought, soft classic piano.

She’d also dressed for the occasion, a sunflower yellow skirt just past her knees and a simple white blouse. She wondered what her date would wear, it was always a mixed bag but unimportant unless she hired them as a date specifically for an event. Once she had hired someone to be on her arm at a charity auction, mainly to keep the men at bay (which didn’t work). It had been difficult to bring herself to do that while she was employed at Overwatch, where her coworkers felt more like family than friends, and with friends like Lena who had her nose in everyone’s business. 

She wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore she thought. When the doorbell rang she was still staring pensively out the window, in the direction where Overwatch Headquarters once was. Years had passed and the wreckage still remained. She made conscious efforts to avoid the site but often found her gaze pulled to it’s direction, thinking of those she’d lost.

The doorbell rang a second time before she heard it and pulled herself away from the window.

She opened the door, smile ready, but was quickly disarmed seeing who was on the other side.

“Are you lost, Dr. O’Deorain?” She didn’t recall giving her old colleague her address but had often considered it.

Moira’s eyes widened too, as if she hadn’t expected Angela either. This unsettled Angela in a way she couldn't explain, until Moira confirmed it.

“I may be. Could you confirm if this is 21 Hohlstrasse, apartment G. ? I was sent there on. . .business.” Angela caught her eyeing her. “You look lovely tonight, Dr. Ziegler. Were you just stepping out?”

“Actually,” she chewed her lip, unsure if she liked where this was heading. “I was waiting for company.”

“Were you?” Moira arched a brow.

“. . .yes.”

“What a coincidence.” 

They stood there, staring at each other, fully aware of the situation but unwilling to say anything first.

Moira was the first to break the silence, “how have you been, Dr. Ziegler. It’s been-”

Angela stepped aside, breaking her off, “come in.”

“So you did hire me.” Moira smirked, closing the door behind her.

“Are you going to tease me for paying for sex?”

“Not at all.” Moira made herself comfortable on the couch, watching her pace. “Most of my clients are handsome and successful, fully capable of finding someone on their own. Now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense why you would hire a companion.”

That stoked her curiosity, “how so?”

“A relationship takes more effort than you would want to expend. You’d rather use that time on work than finding a partner and keeping them.”

“I find it difficult to believe you would have the time to do this line of work along with your research.” 

“It helps fund my research. When I was with Blackwatch I scarcely worked.”

“But now that Overwatch as disbanded. . .”

“Long before then- after the Venice mission. . . well, you know how it went. “

“I made dinner.” Angela said, gesturing to the table, wanting to change the subject.

“It smells divine.”

“Thank you.” She opened the wine and poured the glasses up to the brim. Moira scowled, saying it would affect the taste but Angela ignored her comment. She drank more than she had originally planned for this evening. The wine was meant to help gently shed their inhibitions, now instead, it was being used to drown out her nervousness and the memories of their work.

But that didn’t work either, it only intensified both and Angela let slip that she had almost hired someone to fuck her when they were still working together. “Someone who looked like you.”

Moira’s glass was more than half full but her plate was licked clean. “If you had done that I’m sure they would have sent me.”

“That would be awkward!” Angela shouted when she didn’t mean to.

Moira pulled the glass of wine from Angela’s side and replaced it with a glass of water. “Drink this, I don’t like to fuck drunk women.”

An hour and two glasses of water later, Angela had begun to sober up. She had become comfortable with Moira enough to sit on the couch and talk. She had said enough embarrassing things already and Moira had barely batted a lash. There was hardly anything left to be ashamed about, even her invasive questions were given without a thought.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Since college. At first to help with my student loans. I found it more lucrative and humanizing than picking up an entry level position in fast food, then I came to love it.”

“Why?” Angela asked, confused. 

“The same reasons as you. It’s too much work to seek out a relationship.”

“Did Gabriel know?”She wondered.

“How do you think I found out about the job position?” Moira smirked haughtily. And then, without Angela’s asking casually mentioned: “he liked to top from the bottom.”

“I’m certain there’s a rule about client confidentiality that you just broke.”

Moira shrugged, suddenly distant. “He’s dead. Not that I could besmirch his reputation more than he- than Overwatch has already.”

Angela disagreed but didn’t voice this, knowing that the two had been close, closer than she had ever realized. “You shouldn’t talk about the dead like that.”

“Are you concerned that when you pass that I’ll tell everyone that ‘Mercy’ hired a sex worker? I’m certain no one would listen.”

“No one would believe you.”

“No one ever does.” Moira said bitterly, her thoughts elsewhere.

“I d-”

“Even you.” Her eyes narrowed and she took a large drink, emptying her glass of wine. “Tell me, if you despise my research so much why the irresistible urge to fuck me- even settling on someone who shared my likeness?”

Angela’s retort caught in her throat, Moira sidling closer, reminding her of one of the many reasons why she had hated working with her. She smelled dangerous, ephemeral, like sparks just before gunfire. Her elbow glanced against Angela’s arm, taking her back to when they worked in the lab together and Moira had done that even then, testing Angela’s resolve of professionalism, pushing, pushing. . .

“Come now, Dr. Ziegler. We are not co-workers anymore, there’s no need to worry about rules and obligations. . . that's what I’m here for, to help it all melt away. Wouldn’t you like to punish me for all my unethical practices?”

“I know what you’re thinking; that would hardly be punishment for you.”

“I’m only thinking about the email you sent, what you were looking for: a submissive, willing and- oh, now I’m thinking about the time you almost slapped me.”

Angela remembered it too, how her body had seared with heat, angry at Moira’s callousness. And then stopping herself, because it was wrong, or because-

“You were smitten with me.”

“I didn’t want to cause a scene, even though you already had.” Angela sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose, reminding herself that this was supposed to be fun. “And I’d rather not take my anger out on you.”

“Do you still want to hit me?” Moira was unperturbed by the admittance of violence, rather it had intrigued her. Typical Moira.

“You’re eager.” 

“How can I not? I’ve been under your thrall since I laid eyes on you.”

Angela rolled her eyes, Moira was always dramatic, unironically and that’s what made it worse. 

“However. . .” Moira paused for effect. “I never understood the appeal until I met you face to face. The face you put on for the public is a mask. No, what interests me is the woman no one else wants to know.”

Angela’s upper lip raised in a grin, “only you would.”

“Show me.” Moira’s elbow brushed against her knee, Angela knew it was obvious but in that moment she could see how it could be seen as an accident. She crossed her legs on purpose, this time bumping her knee against Moira’s arm. And then, Moira took the bait, running her nails up her inner thigh until Angela’s hand caught her.

“Remind me who is topping, again?” Angela’s nails were shorter but they dug into Moira’s inner wrist effectively. 

“You of course.” Moira smiled.

“Then shut up.” Angela said, catching Moira’s tongue between thumb and forefinger. “Before I cut off your tongue.”

Moira’s lips smiled around her fingers, her eyes glinting. Her reaction to Angela’s threat was anything but docile. No, she was utterly thrilled. 

“I can already tell you’re a painslut.” Angela observed. She had had experience with masochists who would entice punishment for the sake of pleasure and submissives who pushed their limits just because it felt so good they were afraid to stop. Moira was no different, she could see it in her eyes, in her demeanor. Compliant but proud to do so, certain that she would get what she wanted.

Even under her thumb, Angela would have to be careful with her.

She removed her fingers from Moira’s mouth to replace them down the front of her pants. “Wet already. . .” She murmured and cruely pinched the clit, keening for attention. Moira howled and her legs shook, but her feet remained planted on the floor, surprising.

“I’m certain you’re just as wet.” 

“Quiet.”

For her arrogance, Angela pinched her again, in the same spot. Harder.

Moira winced and one foot slid forward.

“Don’t fall.” Angela taunted, watching her slide down the couch. “I won’t catch you.”

“Mmm.” Moira purred contently, her eyes hooded and craving more. “Just like I imagined.”

Angela stood up and briefly disappeared into the kitchen, a pair of scissors in one hand and binder clips in the other. The scissors laid at her side to showed her commitment to her earlier threat, the binder clips were a warning, three snapped tight onto Moira’s tongue.

Now when Moira tried to talk she sounded ridiculous and unable to properly close her mouth she started to drool.

There was one more binder clip left, hanging off Angela’s blouse for later. For now, she picked up the scissors, more than just the culmination of a threat, they tore through Moira’s clothes. Her blouse was rend straight through and even when it was long off her Angela cut the arms -of what was once Moira’s clothes -off. The bralette, gold and shining on Moira’s chest was cut, the scissors cold against her sternum. Her belt and her pants followed suit. Angela commented that Moira’s underwear was already irreparable ( without the kiss of her scissors), they were sodden through and clinging to Moira’s sex. Angela lifted the fabric and cut a hole in the middle, essentially making them more useless than they already were; the long inner labia lips of Moira’s sex hung through the new opening, glistening.

“I’d order you to leave here like this, but I know you have no shame.”

Moira tilted her head, wanting to speak. Her eyes glinted, as if agreeing. 

To reward her, Angela removed the binder clips from her tongue and replaced them on the nearly flat breasts before her, including the one that had been hanging on her blouse, which clamped tight onto Moira’s nipple. Certain she would get a reaction, Angela brushed a hand along the protruding clips. Moira shivered, growing wetter and tighter around her fingers.Her thumb tapped, sharp and brief onto the clitoris jutting out for attention. She entertained the thought of placing a clamp there too, but didn’t want Moira to come on the spot, not yet at least.

Angela wondered how well Moira could hold out, if she had a shred of restraint within her. She wondered if she told Moira not to come until ordered to if she would listen. She doubted this all very much. 

Moira raised her hips, following the thrust of her fingers. The more Angela touched her chest and teased the clips pinching flesh, the more desperate she became. Angela kissed her, brief and quiet, then bit her long and hard. Moira whimpered but refused to relent, as if hoping that Angela’s teeth would sink deep enough to draw blood. When Angela pulled away, Moira’s lower lip was swollen and bruised purple. Many marks followed: all around Moira’s neck like a violet necklace, fading marks on her breasts and jagged red lines down her thighs. She howled when Angela removed the clips from her breasts and nipple, as if mourning their absence. To quiet her, Angela cupped her cheek- and then slapped the other, with the same hand she had used to fuck her. Moisture streaked across Moira’s face. Her eyes were unfocused, faraway, blissful.

Angela slapped her again.

And again.

Then she forced her fingers -still sopping wet with Moira’s excitement- down her throat. Moira gripped her Angela’s knee as her throat tightened around her fingers, fighting the gag reflex. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Cry for me.” Angela beckoned.

And Moira did, wrenching herself away from Angela’s fingers, coughing up phlegm. Her face was red and her hair, normally so immaculate hung in her eyes, damp with the sweat on her brow.

“Too much?” Angela asked. “Speak if you can.”

Moira nodded, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. She grasped at Angela, voicelessly she begged for _more_

Therein, Angela found the only way she could effectively punish Moira. She said, “no.” and batted her hand away. A part of her screamed at herself, wanting to see how Moira looked when she came, but the petty side of her won out, pleased by how distraught Moira looked, being denied this simple pleasure. “I’ve never seen you upset.” 

Moira lowered her eyes, her voice low and quavering, still drunk on lust and caught in subspace, “you’ve given me a taste of what I can’t have.” 

“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” Angela rose to wash her hands and returned with a cool compress to wipe the sweat, saliva, and wetness from Moira’s body. As Angela rubbed ointment on the few scratches that had left more than a mark, Moira asked her if she would call on her again.

Angela swallowed, half relieved that soon she would be out of the country, in a tent where there would be little privacy to hire a companion, much less sleep.

“Our paths will cross.” She replied vaguely, hoping they wouldn’t, but knowing they would regardless.


	5. begging for

Angela’s heart skips a beat when Moira begs for ‘mercy’.

Not mercy as a person, but mercy as a concept, an act of compassion, fueled by her humanity, laden deep inside.


	6. Cheers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably inevitable. Watersports/piss drinking.

In an organization like Overwatch, where it’s employees are under constant heavy surveillance, Angela and Moira get off on keeping their relationship a secret. 

The champagne glass cradled in Angela’s hand is warm, recently filled by Moira. She takes in each sip with a grin attached, chatting amicably with her co-workers and sponsors, who are unaware of the contents in the glass.

Moira’s gaze catches Angela’s eye and from different corners of the room they raise their glasses in a silent toast and Angela drinks deeply.

A drop nearly escapes from the corner of her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any drink is classy if it's out of a champagne glass.


End file.
